


Omens of Love

by ranguvar82



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Aziraphale Loves Crowley (Good Omens), Crowley Loves Aziraphale (Good Omens), Fluff and Humor, M/M, Meet-Cute, Post-Canon, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-02
Updated: 2021-02-28
Packaged: 2021-03-13 19:54:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 28
Words: 18,552
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29159232
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ranguvar82/pseuds/ranguvar82
Summary: A collection of one shots based on the Ineffable Valentines Prompt list in the SVD Group on Facebook. Some will be Human, others will have our lovely angel and demon, but all will be very sweet and sappy.Edit: Even chapters will be Angel/Demon, Odd will be Human.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 132
Kudos: 89





	1. A Bad Day Made Better

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Laughing together. 
> 
> Crowley is having the shittiest day of his life, but things are about to change.

Omens of Love

Chapter One: A Bad Day Made Better

Anthony J Crowley was feeling miserably unhappy. He had just lost a major deal, been screamed at by his boss, and on top of that, his boyfriend of three years had left him, saying that he “couldn’t handle the baggage anymore.” Well, fuck him, fuck his boss, and fuck that stupid deal. He was going to go to a bar, order the cheapest shit he could, and get piss drunk.

He stumbled down the road, his coat collar pulled up against the wind, peering into the bars. He wanted one that was busy enough that he didn’t feel like he was the only person there, but also not so packed that he wouldn’t be able to breathe. So far, no luck, and the wind was starting to pick up.

He was just beginning to resign himself to simply going to the nearest Tesco and buying a bottle when a car came barreling around the corner. Before Crowley could jump back from the kerb, the car hit a puddle, sending ice cold water spraying up in an arc. Crowley was soaked through in seconds, his hair plastered to his head.

“SON OF A BITCH!” He flipped the receding car the two finger salute, then looked down at his soaked clothing. “Fucking hell!”

“Is everything okay?” The soft voice made him turn.

“No, everything is...guh.” The owner of the voice was probably the most devastatingly attractive man Crowley had ever seen in his life. Hair so blond it was nearly white, blue eyes that rivaled the color of the sky on a good day, plump body and thighs. He was dressed in a cream and gold suit that looked fifty years out of date and yet somehow worked perfectly on him. “Shitty day.”

The man nodded. “I see. Would you care to come in and have a drink?”

Crowley shrugged. “Sure, why not.” Guy didn’t look like a serial killer. He followed the man into the building behind him, which turned out to be a bookshop.

“Right back this way,” Blondie said, and Crowley dutifully followed him. The man indicated a lumpy but comfortable looking sofa. “Have a seat, and don’t worry about getting it wet, it washes off. I’ll go get you a towel.” He headed down a hall, and Crowley looked around. There were books everywhere, along with a small roll top desk in one corner. It felt..homey.

The man returned with a towel in one hand and a bottle of wine and two glasses in the other. He handed Crowley the towel, and he rubbed himself dry as best as he could. The towel was very soft and smelled like lilacs.

“Here you go.” The man handed Crowley a glass and sat in a chair across from the sofa. “My name’s Aziraphale, by the way.”

“Crowley.” They shook hands. Aziraphale sipped at his wine.

“You look rather miserable. Want to talk about it?”

Crowley opened his mouth to tell this Aziraphale to mind his own fucking business, when the events of the day caught up with him. He began to giggle, then to laugh, and finally he was cackling, his head thrown back. “I don’t know why I’m laughing, I just had one of the shittiest days ever! Okay, so first I fuck up royally on this land deal we’re supposed to be signing off on, so my boss reamed me out, and then I get home and find a note from my boyfriend saying he’s taking off and not coming back, and then I get soaked to the skin by a stupid fucker in a Mercedes.”

Aziraphale laughed as well. “Yes, truly a horrible day!”

“The..the thing is,” Crowley said, whooping with laughter, “I hated my fucking job! I hated the fucking soulless corporate drone it was turning me into, I fucking hate my coworkers, and I’d been looking for an excuse to quit! I fucked up on purpose!”

“You didn’t!” Aziraphale choked out, laughing. Crowley nodded, face red and tears of mirth pouring down his face. “You devious man!”

Crowley swigged the wine and almost choked. He coughed, then cleared his throat. “Still, day wasn’t completely shitty. I got to meet you.”

Aziraphale looked pleased. “Well, I’m glad I made a bad day better.”


	2. Tempt Me, Oh Mighty Tempter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Apples 
> 
> Aziraphale was created to Guard. When asked against what, he had been given the rather blunt answer of 'Temptation' Too bad he had no idea what that was.

Chapter Two: Tempt Me, Oh Mighty Tempter

Aziraphale was created to guard. What, exactly, he was meant to guard against he wasn’t sure. He’d asked Gabriel, and been told “temptation.” Aziraphale had no idea what temptation even was. They didn’t have any in Heaven, he was pretty sure of that, and any further questions just got him a glare and a “Figure it out for yourself, Aziraphale.”

And so he was sent to Eden, to Earth, and he spent most of his time sitting on the Wall, watching the animals and plants in the Garden, wondering if any of them were Temptation. They didn’t look like it. The one animal with the trees on its head liked to be petted by the human female-Eve-and the human male-Adam-seemed content to just pluck the fruit from all the trees. Except for The Tree. Aziraphale wasn’t quite sure which tree was The Tree, but he had Strict Orders to not let the humans near it.

He had been given a sword of flame, but he only used it to keep his corporation warm during the cold nights. He would sit on the Wall, far away from the other Guardians, who were much older, much more officious, and not very welcoming of the young(in terms of angels, he was the celestial equivalent of a child) Principality. So instead, Aziraphale looked up at the stars and tried to find patterns, or he would manifest his eyes for fun and let them roll up and down his arms, or sometimes, when he thought nobody was watching, he would fly down and explore Eden at night. The humans were nearly always sleeping(though once Aziraphale caught them doing something that made him blush furiously and hasten off before he could get caught), and there were different animals.

It was during one of his nightly rambles that he came across an animal he hadn’t seen before. It was long, and it had no legs, and funny colored skin. Aziraphale nearly tripped over it. “Oh, I am sorry!” The animal lifted its head, then hissed at him and moved away. Aziraphale wondered if this was Temptation.

The next day, the animal-The Serpent-slithered up to the Wall next to him and changed into the most beautiful demon Aziraphale had ever seen. Red, red hair, raven black wings, golden eyes. The demon-who introduced himself as Crawley, but whom Aziraphale was already calling Temptation, had been shocked and delighted at the revelation that Aziraphale gave away his sword, and his brilliant, dazzling smile made Aziraphale’s heart skip a beat.

As the world went on, Aziraphale and Crowley(but he would forever be Temptation to the angel)went from sort of enemies to friends to, thanks to a plate full of oysters and Aziraphale actually being brave) lovers, to husbands.

Now, after the world had been saved, and deep, deep wounds had been patched up with kisses and reassurances of love, an angel watched as a demon worked in his garden, quietly threatening the plants to grow, or else. Aziraphale thought back to his first day in Heaven, and how he had been told to guard against temptation. It was a good thing he wasn’t very good at his job.

Crowley looked up, grinning as Aziraphale came over. “Hey Angel. What’s up?”

Aziraphale grinned, then with a flourish made an apple appear in his hand. “Can I tempt you?”

Crowley pulled the laughing angel into his arms. “Always could, oh mighty tempter.”


	3. Misshapen But Just As Good

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: 'Help, my candy is melting' 
> 
> Aziraphale threaded his way through the crowd towards the smell of chocolate...

Chapter Three: Misshapen, But Just As Good

Aziraphale licked his lips as he approached the booth at the market, drawn by the rich smell of chocolate. He furtively looked around to make sure Gabriel was nowhere nearby. The last thing he needed was a holier than thou lecture from his brother about how he needed to lose weight.

He pulled out a handkerchief and mopped his brow. For February, it was surprisingly warm. He had conceded to the heat by wearing a light jacket instead of his usual waistcoat, but even still, he felt sweaty and sticky. He had been on the verge of leaving when the chocolate scent had wafted through the air and hooked itself under his nostrils, drawing him.

Aziraphale made it to the front of the booth, which had the words “Chocolates by Crowley” written on a blackboard on the counter in large letters. Aziraphale felt himself drooling as he looked down at the neatly arranged trays piled high with...oh dear.

“Excuse me?” He called towards the back of the booth.

“I’ll be there in a second, goddamn it!” A rather angry voice called back, and Aziraphale felt a bit wrong footed. He looked down again at the...blobs on the trays, then at the pictures in front of the blobs that showed what they were supposed to be.

“Yeah, what?” Came a rough voice in front of him. Aziraphale looked up and started to say something, and his breath caught. The man in front of him was, well, **gorgeous**. Long, long red hair done up in a braid, honey gold eyes, and a long, angular body. He was scowling at Aziraphale, arms crossed. “I swear to fu..fricking god, if you are going to tell me my chocolate’s melted, I am going to not only scream, but I will throw something very heavy at you. I KNOW it’s melted. I am doing my fucking best to keep it cold, but I don’t have a decent freezer or fridge, it’s fucking 24 C out here, and I **am doing my fucking best, okay?!** ” The man sounded like he was on the verge of either crying, screaming, or both. 

Aziraphale smiled at him. “Actually, I was going to ask how much for one of those boxes!” He pointed to the largest box on display. The booth owner  turned and gaped at it. 

“That one?!” Aziraphale nodded. “You do know that holds eight pounds worth?” 

“Oh, does it? Lovely. Which ones would you recommend I get?”

“Oh. Um..well...” The booth owner looked almost as if he were blushing. “This one’s a really good one. It’s got a chili center, so there’s a bit of a kick.” 

Aziraphale selected it, then with the help of the chocolatier, filled up his box. “What do I owe you?”

“You know what? You’re the first person in about an hour that’s come here and not given me shit over things I can’t control, so it’s on me.” The redhead said with a smile. Aziraphale’s jaw dropped. 

“I couldn’t do that! I insist on payment!”

“Could take me to dinner.” The redhead blurted out. Aziraphale gaped at him. “Shit, I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have...”

“What about Friday?”

“Wot?” 

Aziraphale smiled. “Say around six? You pick the restaurant.”

“O..okay. One more thing. What’s your name?”

Aziraphale beamed, feeling as though something monumental was about to happen. “Aziraphale.”

“I’m Crowley. Nice to meet you.”

“You too.”

The chocolate, melted though it was, turned out to be the best Aziraphale had ever had in his entire life. 


	4. Words Left Unsaid

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Love languages. 
> 
> They've never said the words...

Chapter Four: Words Left Unsaid

They’ve never said the words out loud. They’re human words, used to convey an idea that no human could possibly understand. Words that pale in comparison to feelings, to actions.

They didn’t say them in Eden, when an angel sheltered a demon from the first rain, and a demon delighted in an angel that gave away his Flaming Sword. After, as their lips would meet for the first time under a pear tree, the angel tasting of the pears he’d consumed, the demon had felt it. Robes had been discarded, and hands and lips had been everywhere, and then there had been both divine and damned ecstasy, mingling together. There had been whispered promises, promises to never leave, promises to always be by each others’ side.

They didn’t say them on the Ark, when Crawley wept hot tears for not being able to save everyone, and Aziraphale held him close, pressing kisses into his hair and whispering that things would be okay, that they would get through this so long as they had each other, the angel himself holding back Divine Wrath at a God who would be so cruel as to kill innocents.

They didn’t say them as they watched Joshua die, Crowley’s hand gripped tight in her husband’s and her tears flowing freely. After, they went back to their home, and Crowley collapsed, sobbing. Aziraphale held her, kissed away her tears, then at her request laid her on their bed and worshiped her, whispering words of praise, devotion, and promises to never, ever leave into her skin. She wrapped herself around him and slept a sleep undisturbed by nightmares.

They didn’t say them in Rome, when Crowley watched, devoted and helplessly besotted, as Aziraphale ate oysters, as the demon tried to resist a kiss, citing that oysters were disgusting, and as Aziraphale laughed and kissed him and kissed him until Crowley agreed that maybe they didn’t taste so bad after all, not when there was also the sunlight taste of his angel and husband to go with them.

They didn’t say them in Wessex, during the long, cold, damp days and the blissful nights in Aziraphale’s tent as they made love over and over, stealing precious moments before Aziraphale had to return to Camelot and Crowley had to return to...fomenting.

They’ve never said them. Not when Crowley made Hamlet a success and Aziraphale thanked him, over and over, in the dark room of their villa, surrounded by silk sheets and whispered words borrowed from a playwright.

Not when Crowley rescued a foolish, silly angel from discorporation at the hands of Madame Guillotine, took him for crepes, and later sobbed out his fear and terror of losing Aziraphale while the angel held him and stroked his hair, running his fingers through fire curls.

During the long, lonely, terrible years of their Schism, they both think the words constantly, but neither one has the courage-or is it the regret-to find the other, terrified that this is a crack that can never be mended, a wound that can never be healed. Aziraphale keeps a flower on his desk. It’s a rose, the same rose Crowley brought him when he opened the bookshop, and it’s still as pristine as ever. Aziraphale refuses to let it wilt, because to let it wilt will mean that it’s hopeless, and he’s lost the only thing worth being on Earth for.

They don’t say it after Crowley has once again saved his angel, after they spend days, weeks, months(Aziraphale loses track of time after a while) making up for all the time lost, relearning each others’ bodies, slipping rings back on fingers(Crowley kept his around his neck, and Aziraphale moved his to his pinky) where they belong.

They don’t say it when Aziraphale hands over a thermos laden with meaning, when they dine at the Ritz, Crowley watching, devoted and besotted, a smile on his face and in his eyes.

They don’t say it when they face the End, when Satan rises and Crowley stops time to talk to the young and scared Antichrist.

They don’t say it when they swap bodies, bodies that they know intimately, to save the only thing that they are both devoted to, and succeed.

They don’t say it when they start a new life in the South Downs, in a cottage with a miraculously large library and an equally magnificent garden, a cottage that’s safe from Heaven and Hell, where they curl up together on their sofa and exchange kisses, a bedroom where they can map each others skin and drive each other to the brink and beyond with pleasure.

They’ve never said the words. But then again, they never have to.

Some things are best left unsaid.


	5. Red and Black

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Heart shaped box. Aziraphale has a lot of interesting customers come into his little gift shop.

Chapter Five: Red and Black

Aziraphale has quite the number of, let’s say, **interesting** customers come into his little gift shop. 

There’s the couple that always come in on Friday nights and buy the cheapest champagne and chocolates he has, always looking over their shoulders like they’re afraid of being caught out late, like teenagers breaking curfew. Which is ridiculous, because they’ve got to be in their sixties, at least. Aziraphale rings them up with a smile and watches them skitter out. 

There’s the young lady with the peppermint hair. Or sometimes it’s bubblegum. Other times it’s a rainbow. She buys exactly one and a half pounds of his dark sea salt fudge, insisting every time that he wraps a blue ribbon around the box. She comes in every Wednesday. 

There’s the usual number, of course, of husbands and boyfriends and partners who are in the doghouse and need to make up for it with flowers, chocolates, candies, or wines. 

(Aziraphale doesn’t sell cards. Cards don’t have any real meaning. Anyone can write a few twee phrases. He sells experiences.)

There’s the middle aged lady who will spend all her time carefully examining every piece of candy and chocolate and looking at every single bottle of wine before settling as she always does on a small box of Aziraphale’s cream truffles and the cheapest dessert wine he owns. Aziraphale grits his teeth, rings her up, and flips her the bird once she’s left his shop, angry at her for wasting his time but not mean enough to kick her out. 

Then...there’s Red. That’s what Aziraphale calls him, because he’s too overwhelmed by his sheer presence to do much more than squeak out a hello whenever he comes in. 

Red comes in every other Thursday. Aziraphale calls him that because his hair is the reddest Aziraphale’s ever seen, falling in a braid down to the middle of his back. He’s dressed from head to toe in black, from the stylish sunglasses he wears to the tips of his snakeskin boots. He even moves like a snake, undulating his hips in a way that fuels Aziraphale’s fantasies for quite a few nights. 

Red’s tall, all arms and legs(and oh those legs, Aziraphale’s imagined them wrapped around his neck more than once, while Red had on far less clothes) and sharp, angular hips. He’s got a jaw line that Aziraphale wants to trace with his tongue, and  thin, extremely kissable lips. 

All in all, he’s the most gorgeous man Aziraphale’s ever seen in his life. 

His purchases vary. Sometimes he’ll get some fudge, other times some wine(always the good stuff), and once he bought two pounds of chocolate. All his purchasing is done in silence, and when Aziraphale rings him up and tells him to have a nice day(with considerably more enthusiasm than he usually does) he gets a soft smile. 

Aziraphale begins to look forward to every other Thursdays the way a starving man looks forward to his next meal. He looks at the clock, foot tapping impatiently. Red comes in at two o clock, every time, on the dot. 

Sure enough, as soon as the clock shows two, the bell above the door rings, and Red steps in. Aziraphale tries to maintain some degree of professionalism, but Red’s dressed in a skin tight shirt that shows off his chest and jeans that do the same for his legs, and Aziraphale wants to shove the man against his counter and kiss him breathless. “Hello.”

Red nods at him, then saunters over to the counter and points at one of the boxes behind him. Aziraphale turns. He’s pointing at the heart shaped box. “One of those?” A nod, and Aziraphale gets it down. He knows by now the chocolates Red likes(incidentally, they’re also his favorite) and he fills the box up. “For someone special?” 

Red grins and nods. Aziraphale feels his heart sink. He should have known someone as gorgeous as this man had someone. No doubt his partner was as sleek and sophisticated as he is. He rings the box up. “Twenty pounds forty.” Red hands the money over, but doesn’t take the box. Instead, he pushes it towards Aziraphale with a significant look. “I don’t...”

Red pouts(and oh god it’s adorable) then reaches into a pocket and pulls out a notepad. He points to the cup full of pens on the counter, his head cocked, and Aziraphale nods. Red grabs a pen and writes, then hands the paper over.

‘Hi, my name’s Crowley, I can’t talk, and I think you’re bloody gorgeous. I’ve been trying to work up the courage to ask you out for three whole weeks now(why I keep coming back), and the chocolates are for you-maybe we could share them along with a bottle of really good port after dinner? Please say yes’. 

Aziraphale looks at the note, then at Red-no, at  **Crowley** and his face splits into the hugest smile. 

“That, my dear, sounds absolutely wonderful.”


	6. Reminisces

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Best Adventure. 
> 
> "Do you remember Wessex?" Aziraphale asks.

Chapter Six: Reminisces

“Do you remember Wessex?” Aziraphale asks. Crowley blinks and looks up at his husband from his position on his lap. They’re stretched out together on their sofa in their cottage. A fire is crackling in the fireplace, and Crowley is covered by two very soft and fluffy blankets hand knit by the angel he’s currently using as a pillow. Outside, rain is coming down in sheets and the wind is howling, whipping trees into a frenzy.

“Course I remember Wessex. One doesn’t forget being that bloody damp and cold, Angel. You could go back to the palace and get some measure of warmth, and I had to slink around outside in the bloody fog.” He tilts his head so he can look Aziraphale in the eyes. “Why do you ask?”

Aziraphale scratches Crowley’s scalp, and the demon hisses in contentment. “I was just thinking about all the adventures we’ve had over the millenia, that’s all.”

Crowley snorts. “Adventures? Is that what you’d call them?”

Aziraphale nods, still scratching, and Crowley leans into the touch. “Well, yes. Granted, most of the places we went to were because our former Head Offices sent us there on assignment, but didn’t you ever take in the sights? Immerse yourself in the culture?”

“Well, yeah. Can’t do any tempting if you don’t know the locals or the place, Angel. Makes it a lot easier. Though mostly I spent it missing you and wishing that I could be with my husband.”

Aziraphale links Crowley’s left hand in his and kisses the ring that’s been there, in one form or another, for six thousand years. “Do you remember the time we were celebrating our four hundredth anniversary and you bought me that lovely trinket from the bazaar? Where was that, Rome?”

“Yep. And then that wanker Gabriel showed up and you had to explain that you had bought a statue of a pagan god because it helped you to understand how to better turn the Romans towards the right proper God. Still can’t believe the idiot brought that.”

Aziraphale giggles. “Me neither. But my poor snakey husband had to hide in the rubbish, if I recall.”

Crowley makes a face. “Ugh, don’t remind me. I smelled like rotten fruit. Thank Satan for the private baths.”

“We didn’t do much bathing.” Aziraphale says with a wicked grin, and Crowley grins back.

“Nope, we didn’t. Wot’d we do for our five hundredth?”

Aziraphale bites his lip, thinking. “Wasn’t that the year we were both in Australia? Or what became Australia?”

“No no, that was the six hundredth. I remember because you wanted to go to the opal mines, we got lost because neither of us bothered to ask for directions and your corporation got sunburned. It’s also when we learned that sunburn can’t be miracled away.”

Aziraphale makes a face. “Oh, yes. I was miserable. But you were so loving and attentive, putting the cream on me.”

Crowley snorts. “Just wanted an excuse to get my hands on you.”

“As if you needed one.”

Crowley moves up so he’s laying flush against Aziraphale. “We’ve had lots of adventures, as you put it. But y’know what the best one is?”

“Which?”

“This one. Because we don’t have to hide. We don’t have to pretend we don’t know each other, that we aren’t and haven’t been deeply and passionately in love for thousands of years. I don’t have to spent long, lonely nights looking at my ring and wondering where my husband is and if he’s safe. I can come in from my garden and you’re here, either puttering around in the kitchen or sitting here reading. We may not be going off to all corners of the world anymore, but we’ve made our own world here, and I wouldn’t trade it for anything.”

Aziraphale kisses him. “Neither would I, my love.”


	7. Encounter on A Train

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Nose scrunches. 
> 
> He was doing it again. Crowley looked up from his phone, trying to look like he wasn't looking.

Chapter Seven: Encounter on A Train

He’s doing it again. Crowley bites down on his lip and forces himself to look at his phone and not the drop dead gorgeous man sitting in the seat across from him. His control lasts all of five seconds before he looks back up, trying to look like he’s not looking.

The man’s nose is scrunched up, his blue eyes gleaming as he reads from the heavy, leather bound book in his lap. It’s obviously a well loved and well read tome, because the man has been reading it ever since he sat down. Which, of course, has given Crowley ample time to not so subtly look him over and come to the conclusion that he is absolutely adorable.

He’s blond, with hair that just touches his shoulders, and he’s got on clothing that looks more like it belongs in the Victorian era than modern day. Crowley would not be surprised in the least if the man owned a pocket watch. The brief glimpse of his eyes when they had nodded a greeting to each other showed that they were a blue that rivaled the sky.

The man’s plump, but with a hint of strength, especially in the chest and arms. Crowley, who is a scrawny twig of a man, has a brief fantasy of the man’s thick thighs pinning him down while those hands do wonderful, carnal things to him. He ducks behind his phone again to hide his raging blush.

Adorable sighs, and Crowley gulps. Even his sighs are adorable, and...Crowley peeks over his phone...yep, that cute little nose is still scrunched up in concentration, and it has no right to be as utterly adorable as it is.

Nose scrunching isn’t adorable, Crowley thinks. It’s not supposed to make him want to lean over and kiss the little wrinkled bit that appears. It’s not supposed to make him wonder how Adorable would react to that. Would he giggle? (Crowley suddenly has the weird urge to hear Adorable laugh. He’s sure it would be as wonderful as the rest of him). Would he be angry or offended? Crowley hopes not.

“Bothering you?” Crowley blinks at the posh voice. Adorable is looking at him.

“Wot?”

“I asked if I was bothering you. I can’t help but notice you’re staring at me.”

Crowley flushes crimson and looks down at the floor, wishing there was a hole he could crawl into. “Uh..no...it’s...um...d’you know your nose scrunches up when y’read?”

Adorable makes a face. “Yes, I know. I’ve tried not to, but it seems as though it’s a habit I cannot break. But if it bothers you, I could...”

“S’adorable.” Crowley mumbles, by now redder than a tomato. Adorable blinks, then goes a lovely shade of pink.

“Really?”

Crowley nods, not trusting himself to make any sort of coherent response.

“Well, um...thank you…?”

“Crowley.” Crowley mumbles. Adorable smiles, and Crowley wants to bask in the warmth.

“I’m Aziraphale.”

Aziraphale. What a perfect name, Crowley thinks. “Wot you reading?”

Ado...Aziraphale beams again. “Picture of Dorian Gray! It’s one of my favorites!”

“That the one about the bloke that’s got the painting?”

Aziraphale nods. “Indeed! Have you read it?”

Crowley shakes his head. “Not much for reading, me. Bad eyes.” This is an understatement, he thinks. He’s pretty much legally blind, which means finding reading material is near impossible. “Seen the movie, though.” He braces himself for the ‘well, the book is better’ lecture that he always seems to get.

“Would you like me to read some to you?”

Crowley blinks. “Um, you don’t have to..” Aziraphale comes and sits next to him. This close, Crowley can smell his cologne. It smells like sandalwood and cedar, and Crowley is dizzy from it.

Aziraphale flips to the front of the book and begins reading. His voice is smooth and perfect, and Crowley lets it wash over him.

All too soon, his stop is being announced. Aziraphale frowns. “Oh dear. I guess this is goodbye. It was very nice meeting you, Crowley.”

“Uh, yeah, you too.” Aziraphale shakes his hand again and Crowley leaves the train, feeling strangely empty.

There’s something in his hand. He looks down and sees a business card with AZ Fell and Co written on the front, along with a phone number. There’s an arrow drawn in pen pointing to the back, and Crowley flips it over.

‘Call me?’ Next to those words are what is clearly a mobile number.

Crowley grins and stuffs the card in his pocket, then walks out of the station, whistling.


	8. Where There's A Wall

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Wall Slam. 
> 
> Where there's a wall, there's an angel and a demon.

Chapter Eight: Where There’s A Wall

The first time it happens, Aziraphale is naturally a bit flustered. He and the demon Crawley had been walking along the bottom of The Wall, debating(arguing) over whether or not what they have both done is a good thing or a bad thing, when Crawley had suddenly and without warning shoved him against the stones and pressed his lips to the angel’s. Aziraphale had blinked in shock, then with a breathy little sigh melted into the kiss.

“What was that for?” He had asked, sometime later, still dizzy from the smoke and fire taste of the demon. Crawley had looked rather punch drunk himself.

“Dunno. Felt like it.”

Aziraphale had smiled, taken Crawley’s robe in hand, and pulled him back. “Feel like doing it again?”

After that, Aziraphale finds that he cannot and does not want to leave this bright, fiery demon’s side ever again, and off they go together, ready for whatever walls the world may put up.

They share a brief kiss in Mesopotamia, behind a cattle shed, Crawley pinning Aziraphale to the wall with one hand as the other fumbles beneath the angel’s robes, eliciting a gasp and a sharp whine.

They come together in Rome, wine drunk and hands fumbling, and Crowley is now the one to get slammed against the wall behind the restaurant. Aziraphale holds him up with angelic strength, and Crowley moans wantonly as Aziraphale sucks a bruise into his neck that will be there for quite a long time.

They quickly learn that while kissing and perhaps even a bit of touching is fine, anything else will cause collapse, a fact they learn to their mutual embarrassment, when, after sheathing himself inside his demon(now his husband), Aziraphale’s...energetic exertions cause an entire portion of the Great Wall of China to collapse into a heap of dust and rubble.

After, they’re not quite sure who’s to blame for Genghis Khan.

Crowley tends to try to find excuses to shove his husband against the nearest wall. Sometimes it’s “Oh, just shut up, Angel,” followed by a searing kiss and those long, long fingers stroking him everywhere. Other times he pretends that they’re fighting(this is mostly used if they sense the presence of other demons nearby) and will slam him hard into whatever wall is handy, while Aziraphale will put on his best ‘I’m fighting a demon and I’m dazed’ expression, sometimes throwing in some hurt whining to make it convincing. Once the other demon or demons have left, Crowley kisses him tenderly, soothing away any aches.

Aziraphale still remembers the time they successfully managed to do more than just kiss and caress each other without the wall that he had Crowley pinned against collapsing. He had exerted a very minor miracle, then decided to test its limits. Over and over. The wall had remained intact, but his beloved serpent had fallen apart quite a few times, and very vocally.

He’s never been the sort of angel that went in for smiting anyone, but he had come dangerously close when that stupid nun had interrupted what promised to be a very good snogging session after he had teasingly called Crowley nice. For reasons he didn’t quite understand, his darling had a serious praise kink. Aziraphale, being the loving husband and bastard that he was, often took full advantage of this.

  
Now, after it all hadn’t ended, in a cottage in the South Downs, an angel throws a demon hard into a magically reinforced wall and advances on him, lust and desire burning in both their eyes.

“You,” Aziraphale growls as he scrapes Crowley’s chest with his nails, sharp enough to bite into skin, “are a very...very...nice demon.”

Crowley can only groan as Aziraphale claims his prize.


	9. Here's To Ineffability

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: champagne flutes 
> 
> Aziraphale wanted to sink into the floor. He was getting pitying looks from the other couples in the restaurant.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Uses the same version of Aziraphale and Crowley as in Chapter Seven.

Chapter Nine: Here’s To Ineffability

Aziraphale could feel every single couple in the restaurant watching him. He wanted to sink down in his seat, but pride made him stay sitting right where he was. He glanced once again at his phone, his heart sinking. His date was half an hour late.

Aziraphale picked up his water and took another sip, dreading the return of the waiter. He knew he would have to order, sooner or later. He made a show of reading the menu, taking his time in going over the Valentine’s Day Special. It looked delicious, and Aziraphale had already decided to order the baked Brie appetizer, the rack of lamb with new potatoes, and for dessert, chocolate cake and the finest champagne the restaurant offered.

Now if only he hadn’t been so all fired foolish as to try and find someone online. Online dating sites weren’t for people like him, with his fussy mannerisms and old fashioned ways. They were for people like his boss, Gabriel, all sleek and modern and handsome.

Or like that man he had met a few days ago on the train and, on a fit of whimsy, slipped his number. He hadn’t really expected the man(Crowley, his mind supplied) to call, so it was no surprise when he hadn’t. Aziraphale wondered what he was doing for Valentine’s Day. No doubt something sexy and exciting. He certainly wasn’t sitting all alone in a restaurant waiting for a date that was most likely never coming, and getting looks of pity.

“Aziraphale?” He looked up, and gaped. Crowley was standing there, and Aziraphale thought that he hadn’t realized just how tall he was. And how incredibly gorgeous. He had on a black button up shirt, dark trousers, and his hair was styled in a messy bun. His glasses were off, and Aziraphale saw that his eyes were the color of honey, with almost cat..no, snake like pupils. Crowley smiled. “Thought it was you. Can I sit?” Crowley indicated the seat, and Aziraphale nodded, still gobsmacked.

“So um...bet you’re wondering why I’m here.”

“Uh...yes.”

Crowley fiddled with the tablecloth. “Wanted to see you.” He mumbled, face red. “I uh...I didn’t know you’d be here. I...may have gone to about ten other places looking for you.”

Aziraphale felt a surge of affection. “That’s...so sweet. But why?”

“Cuz...I like you. You’re...sweet an’...soft, but not in a bad way. M’sorry I haven’t called, but things have been crazy. Meant to call an’ ask if you wanted to go out for Valentine’s.”

Aziraphale made a decision. It was fairly obvious that his ‘date’ wasn’t going to show. “Well, then, it’s a good thing you’re here. I can finally order.”

“Y..you’ve been waiting?” Crowley asked, looking up, his eyes wide.

“I may have made the dreadful mistake of trying to find a date online, who has subsequently stood me up. But now that you’re here, things are looking much more promising. Would you care to join me for dinner?”

Crowley flushed happily. “Yeah...I...yeah.”

They ordered dinner(the lamb for Aziraphale, the fish for Crowley) and as they ate, they talked. Aziraphale learned that Crowley ran a nursery and promised to stop by and purchase a plant for his bookshop. Crowley told Aziraphale about his family, about growing up with his eye condition coloboma- and how people stared at him whenever he didn’t have his glasses on. Aziraphale assured him that his eyes were lovely, and Crowley had gone pink.

After, Aziraphale got into a brief argument with the waiter, who insisted that the champagne served with the Valentine’s Dinner was quite adequate, and Aziraphale told him it was only fit for doing dishes with and would he(the waiter) be so kind as to bring an actual decent bottle. The waiter, seeing that Aziraphale was not going to back down, brought out another bottle. Aziraphale curtly nodded his approval, and the waiter popped the cork and set the bottle in the ice bucket, placing the flutes in front of both men.

“You’ve got a bit of a bastard streak.” Crowley said, grinning.

“I have standards. Trying to serve me that swill, really.” Aziraphale huffed as he poured them each a glass. He took a sip. “Much better.”

“I didn’t really go all over looking for you.” Crowley blurted out. “Truth is, um...I got dumped.”

“On Valentine’s Day?!”

Crowley nodded, miserable. “We um...this is where we’d always go for Valentine’s, because Luke, he, um...it’s fancy, and he likes...liked showing me off. Well, um...we always meet, because I have to take the Tube, an’ Luke’s got his car, and...I get here, and I sit at the bar, and I wait...and wait.” Crowley gulped, trying to hold back tears. “He finally showed up, and...there’s someone else with him. I ask him, you know, who he is, and Luke just...gives me this look and says, “Someone new. I’m bored with you.”

“Bored with?!” Aziraphale is enraged. Who could possibly find this fascinating man boring?

Crowley sniffled. “Yeah. So they went and sat at their table and I just...sat there. I was leaving when I saw you sitting here, an’ I remembered how nice you were to me on the train, an’...I took a chance.”

Aziraphale refilled their glasses. “I’m very glad you did. I propose a toast. To...ineffability.”

Crowley smiled and clinked his flute to Aziraphale’s. “Here here.”


	10. The Truth Will Out

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Confessions. 
> 
> A demon commits some sins. An angel makes him confess.

Chapter Ten: The Truth Will Out

Demons are, as everyone knows, liars to their core. It’s in their nature, imbued in the very essence that is them. It’s very, very difficult, in fact almost impossible, for a demon to tell the truth without some sort of compulsion. This usually involves intricate rituals, blood sacrifices, and the loss of personal souls to Hell.

Or in the case of one Anthony J Crowley, Serpent of Eden, The First Tempter, it involves his husband snapping his clothes off and magically tying him to their bed.

Crowley, of course, has no complaints at all about being naked or about being tied up. He rather likes both. What he is a bit put out about is the fact that his gorgeous angel-literally, in this sense-has not even removed his jacket. Rather, he is staring down at Crowley, a smirk on his lips.

“Angel?”

Aziraphale strokes Crowley’s cheek with one finger, and Crowley leans into the touch. “You’ve been very bad, haven’t you?” There’s something dark in his voice that sets Crowley to shaking. Aziraphale clutches his chin. “A naughty demon.”

“Well, yeah, I mean...” Crowley gulps as Aziraphale sends just enough Grace into him to sting. It hurts so good, and Crowley whines. “Aziraphale...” He knows this game now, and he whines again.

“Confess.” Aziraphale’s voice echoes through their cottage, and Crowley’s whine is louder.

“Bugger off.” He says, lips twitching in anticipation. Aziraphale’s smirk gets wider, and he moves so he’s on top of his husband. Crowley smiles demonically. “What do you want me to confess?”

Aziraphale smiles beatifically. “Everything.” He growls, before taking Crowley in hand and doing something that makes the demon screech. “I want you to confess everything. And I want you to do it proper.”

Crowley is panting from Aziraphale’s touches, but he manages to pull himself together. “B...bless me...Angel...for...oh fuck...I...have...sinned.”

Aziraphale smiles like the bastard he is and snaps his fingers, removing his jacket, and Crowley whimpers at the sight of his strong arms. He sucks a kiss into Crowley’s chest. “Keep going.”

“It’s been...six…oh bless it Angel….days since you tied me to the bed and...” Aziraphale looks up and Crowley gulps at the fire in his eyes.

“Properly, I said.” The angel punctuates this with a twist of the wrist that makes the demon gibber.

“Six days since m’last confession, and these are my sins.”

Crowley tries to think around the haze that’s building in his mind. “I glued coins to the sidewalk in front of the grocery store when we went into town last week. I...GUHH...I made the postman fall into a giant puddle and get all the mail wet, causing people to get the wrong mail. I...OH FUCK...I snitched from the bowl when you were making pancakes...I...I...an’ I...”

“You’re missing the biggest one, darling.” Aziraphale growls into Crowley’s ear, and Crowley blinks, trying to remember and also wondering why the Heaven he hadn’t noticed Aziraphale was naked. “Yesterday?”

“I...hid all your tartan pillows in the compost heap!”

Aziraphale sucks a harsh kiss into his neck. “Your confession has been received. Now, you will receive your penance.”

Crowley’s last coherent thought is what a beautiful, brilliant bastard he has married.


	11. Music Hath Charms

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Ballads 
> 
> Crowley is a street musician.

Chapter Eleven: Music Hath Charms

Crowley crouched down and unsnapped the case, pulling out his guitar. He lifted it out and set it on his lap, making sure it was in tune before strumming a G. The chord rang clear and true, and Crowley grinned.

He had picked a primo spot this time-right on the corner where there was sure to be a lot of pedestrian traffic. He had even remembered to bring an umbrella for the shade, and he had on his glasses. The building behind him looked to be about two hundred years old and for some reason had columns that, as far as Crowley could tell, were just there because the builder had thought they looked cool.

He unfolded the small table he carried everywhere with him and set it up, placing the carefully hand lettered sign along with a small cash box(woefully empty, but Crowley was hoping that would change by tonight) on prominent display.

**PLEASE BE GENEROUS** the sign said in looping, scrawling letters. 

Crowley had this down to a science by now. Strum a few chords to get people looking and possibly interested, then play a few songs, then reel in the suckers. 

He waited until he had a few people milling about, watching him. He played a (rather good) rendition of Part of Your World, leading to polite applause, before focusing on one of the suck...people in the group. “I tell you what.” He drawled, his grin sharp. “Give me a song you think I won’t know. If I know it, you have to give me a pound. If not, I’ll give you a pound. Deal?” 

The sucker nodded and asked Crowley to play “Londonderry Air.” Crowley scoffed and played it, singing along. Sucker number one sighed and dropped a pound note into the cash box. Crowley smirked at him. 

Sucker number two asked for Molly Malone. Crowley gave him a look, and drawled “Everyone knows that fucking song, pick another.” Whiskey in the Jar was the second choice, and Crowley gleefully played it. “Thank you so much for your contribution to the arts!”

By ten thirty he had a generous amount of pound notes, not only from Sucker Bets, but also from people who had stopped to watch him play. For all his thorny exterior and relish in parting the gullible from their cash, Anthony Crowley was an accomplished guitarist. 

He sometimes wondered what the stuck up bastards who told him he’d never amount to anything thought of him now. He had tried going the professional route, sending in demo after demo and getting politely turned down, until his cousin, a street performer themselves, had suggested he try busking. His first day, he had made seventy five pounds, a fortune to him. Now, five years later, he was established, so to speak. He had a modest flat. 

Crowley was about to put his guitar away and walk over to the cafe across the road for lunch when a head of white blond hair pushed its way through the crowd. Crowley froze, his brain trying to function as  **he** appeared. 

He was a plump man with white blond hair, sky blue eyes, and the cutest nose Crowley had ever seen on a person. He was dressed about fifty years out of date, and his clothes looked like a rumpled old sofa. 

He was the most gorgeous person Crowley had ever seen, and he had seen him a total of six times, always standing just to the side, watching him with a slight smirk as he fleeced the flock. Crowley had nearly fumbled his chords the first time he laid eyes on the man, and even now, weeks later, he still felt his mouth go dry. 

“Hello.” Blondie had made his way to the front and was smiling serenely at him. “I understand that I may make a request for a song, and if you can play it, I will owe you a pound?”

Crowley was trying not to drool. Blondie was even more gorgeous up close. He said something that was more a random string of syllables than an actual answer. “Ngk...uh...yeah.” ‘Holy fuck he’s so fucking sexy’. Blondie grinned, and Crowley reeled from the sheer joy of it. 

Blondie named a song, and Crowley gaped at him. “How the fuck do you know that?”

“I have my ways.” Blondie said, rubbing his nails and giving Crowley a smile that made the redhead’s insides squirm and heat up at the same time. “Can you play it?”

Crowley growled and played the song. Blondie clapped and dropped a pound note in the box. “Oh, well done. Not many people put the right amount of emotion and inflection into the words, but you did it wonderfully!”

Crowley was not blushing. “Thanks.” He mumbled, looking at the sidewalk. Blondie smiled. 

“May I request another? Not as part of the bet, just a request?” Crowley nodded, and Blondie suddenly looked a bit nervous. “It’s...not a ballad, more bebop, but it’s one of my favorite songs, and I think you would play and sing it quite well, because, well, you’ve got the most amazing voice, I dunno if you’ve ever noticed me, but...”

“What’s the song?” Crowley asked, halting the flow of words. 

“I’ll Be Your Mirror.”

Crowley chuckled. “You know, Angel, if you lined up the entire world and asked them to describe The Velvet Underground, I promise you nobody would call them  **bebop** .” 

“Aziraphale.” 

“Wot?”

Blondie smiled. “It’s my name. Aziraphale.”

“Crowley.” He strummed a few warm up chords, then began to play and sing as Aziraphale had requested. When he finished, Aziraphale clapped. 

“Oh, that was perfect!” 

Crowley’s blush was deeper. “S’nothing. Um...would you like to get some lunch with me?” He blinked, shocked at himself, but Aziraphale beamed. 

“I’d love to.”

Crowley tried not to look too happy. He failed miserably. 


	12. Posies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale receives flowers when he and Crowley are apart.

Chapter Twelve: Posies

The first time Aziraphale receives them, he’s on assignment in China. He’d been sent there to help with some farmer who would one day become a famous scholar if only Aziraphale could point him towards the right path.

He’d been sitting in his room at the inn and missing Crowley something awful(his husband was on assignment in what will someday be Germany, tempting a man into a rivalry with a neighbor that will supposedly cause a feud that will last for centuries) when there’s a knock on his door. Sighing, he answers it.

“Mister Fell?” It’s the innkeeper’s daughter, a bright, cheery lass. She’s holding the most gorgeous bouquet of flowers he’s ever seen, and he smiles. Her sweetheart must really love her, to give her such a brilliant and beautiful posy. To his shock, she holds them out. “These were on the desk. They are for you.”

Puzzled, Aziraphale takes them and thanks her. She bows, and he goes back into his room. The flowers seem to almost shimmer, they’re so lovely. The angel notices a card tucked in between a rose and a lily. He plucks it out and reads it.

‘Angel:

I wish I could be there. These are for you.

All my love,

Crowley’

Aziraphale sits on the bed, clutches the bouquet to his chest, and sobs.

The second time Aziraphale gets a bouquet, he’s just come back from Heaven after getting a thorough dressing down from Gabriel for-he’s really not sure, but it’s left him feeling defeated and miserable. He wants to go to Crowley and curl up in his arms, but the demon is far away on assignment, and Gabriel has browbeaten the Principality so badly that Aziraphale doesn’t dare do anything to arouse suspicion. So instead he goes home, his heart broken and tears threatening to spill.

It’s on the table as he walks in, a spray of roses and lilies and irises and bluebells and carnations and baby’s breath. The air is perfumed with their scent, and Aziraphale picks up a rose and inhales.

There’s another note, tucked up in the leaves. Aziraphale plucks it out.

‘Angel:

Don’t let the bastards get you down. I love you.’

Crowley.’

Aziraphale lets the tears come as he clutches the bouquet to his chest.

Over millenia, Aziraphale comes to the realization that he gets bouquets during his worst moments, when he is apart from Crowley, when Heaven(okay, Gabriel) has been particularly cruel to their odd angel out. The flowers are never the same, but the bouquets are always astonishingly beautiful. He keeps them all, using a miracle to ensure that none of them ever wilt or drop leaves or petals.

Now, safe from Heaven and Hell, and never having to face the prospect of being apart from the demon he has loved since Eden, Aziraphale sits on a bench and watches Crowley garden, muttering threats under his breath at a very stubborn rose bush.

“I’m going to go start dinner.”Aziraphale says. Crowley mumbles something, and the angel goes inside, silently counting down under his breath. As soon as he hits one, the front door opens and Crowley comes in, face as red as his hair and hands behind his back.

“H’ppy Anniversary.” The demon grunts before shoving something in Aziraphale’s hands.

This bouquet outshines all the others, and Aziraphale bursts into tears. Crowley shuffles his feet.

“Knew it wasn’t good...mmmpphh!” He’s cut off by a kiss that makes his entire body heat up even more, and he sighs happily, kissing back.

The bouquet is crushed between them both, but neither the angel or the demon seem to mind.


	13. Close To You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt:Cuddles 
> 
> Crowley sat back on the surprisingly comfy couch and stared at the piece of paper in his hand. His guitar case was propped against the wall.

Chapter Thirteen: Close To You

Crowley sighs, lounging against the surprisingly comfortable sofa. His guitar case is propped up against the far wall. He flips open his notebook and goes to a page that is less cluttered than all the others. With a frown of concentration, he begins writing.

Two minutes later, he growls angrily and wads up the paper, tossing it into the nearby bin. Aziraphale gets all pouty when Crowley leaves his rejected notes and lyrics scattered about, and Crowley has quickly discovered that he hates the idea of Aziraphale being pouty.

It surprises him, sometimes, how far and fast he had fallen for Aziraphale after lunch that day. True, he was harboring a crush the size of the London Eye, but he had never thought anything would come of it, had known ‘Aziraphale’ only in the abstract sense.

Aziraphale turns out to be a brilliant, clever bastard who shyly admits that he “May have watched the videos on your Youtube channel more than once, and you have a gift for lyrics.” Crowley tries not to blush too hard at that and stammers out a thank you. When asked why he doesn’t just sing his original songs, Crowley says that he can’t make money like that. The suckers don’t know his songs.

“I do.” Aziraphale says, and Crowley feels a warmth in his bones at that.

After that, it was very easy to fall for the bookseller. Aziraphale is soft, and kind, and best of all, encouraging. Crowley knows he can be very high maintenance. When he gets deep into a writing session, he can forget to eat, get snappish with everyone around him, and tends to go into a spiral of ‘I’m not any good...I suck...fuck music...” His ex never really knew how to handle Crowley when he was like that, choosing instead to offer shallow platitudes about how he “just had to keep trying.”

The door opens, and Aziraphale comes in, whistling one of Crowley’s songs, and the musician feels a rush of the purest love he has ever known. Aziraphale bustles into the living room, laden down with bags. He takes one look at the morose redhead, the piles of crumpled up papers in the bin, and sets the bags down on the table before sitting down and pulling Crowley into his arms. Crowley comes willingly, wrapping himself around Aziraphale without a word.

This is another thing Crowley loves. Aziraphale is built for cuddling. He’s soft, and warm, and Crowley can wrap himself tight around him and never let go. Aziraphale never complains, never tells him to stop, never says he’s too busy. Instead, he’ll do what he’s doing now, which is to pull Crowley close and run a hand through his hair, down his spine, and back up in a slow, soothing rhythm. Had Crowley been a cat, he would be purring.

“Having trouble, darling?” Even his question is soft. When Michael asked that, it had been barbed, almost insulting, and Crowley’s answer had been equally as barbed. But Aziraphale gets honesty. He deserves it.

“Tryin’ to write something for a certain angel to tell him how much I love him.” Crowley mumbles into Aziraphale’s shoulder. Somehow he feels Aziraphale light up.

“Oh, Crowley...” Aziraphale chokes on a happy sob. “I love you too.”

Crowley wiggles in glee and presses himself closer, breathing in the paper and sandalwood scent that is so uniquely **Aziraphale.**. 

Music can wait, he thinks. Right now, he just wants to cuddle the man he is quite madly in love with. 


	14. Making The Effort

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Gift. It's Valentine's Day, and Crowley is going all out.

Chapter Fourteen: Making The Effort

“Okay, let’s see. Got the wine. Got the champagne for later, very important, champagne. Got the flowers...OI! Stop drooping!” Crowley snarled at one of the roses, and it straightened up, its red petals trembling. “That’s better. Wot next...oh, BLESS IT!”

The demon dashed into the kitchen and wrenched open the oven door. “Oh, thank Someone! I didn’t burn it!” The roast smelled heav...very good, and Crowley poked it with a finger. “Still needs more time.” The potatoes were just this side of done. They needed about five more minutes.

Crowley straightened(well, as much as he could, even when standing straight he still managed to lounge) and went over to the counter where a mixing bowl, several measuring cups, and all the ingredients for a decadent chocolate cake sat. Aziraphale had seen the recipe in one of his many, many cookbooks and fallen in love with it. Crowley decided then and there to surprise him.

Although he didn’t look it, the demon was an excellent cook. There was something about taking raw ingredients and transforming them into something special that appealed to him. It was almost the human equivalent of a miracle. Take something and form it into something else. While it was true that both angel and demon could miracle up food, it never tasted the same.

Aziraphale was talented in the kitchen as well, but he tended to stick directly to a recipe, whereas Crowley’s philosophy was ‘let’s try this flavor combo and see if it works.’ It always did.

Crowley mixed the cake and poured the batter into the pan. He had thrown in a dash of chili, just for the heck of it. Once the batter was made, he stuck it in the convection oven to cook before heading down the hall and into their bedroom. He changed into a snake and slithered under the bed, wrapped the present for Aziraphale around his scales, and carefully pulled it out. He’d had to use a minor miracle to keep the angel from finding it, since Aziraphale cleaned out from under the bed once a week, often chiding Crowley for the number of dust bunnies on his side.

He changed back to his human guise and blew the dust off the cover. He snapped his fingers, and the present was neatly wrapped in paper that had little angel wings on it. Smiling, he tucked it under his arm and headed back out to the living room to wait for Aziraphale to come home.

He didn’t have to wait long. The front door opened and his angel came in, glowing with happiness. “Oh Crowley, I’ve had the most wonderful day! The love in the air was so...wonderful.” Aziraphale gushed, coming over to the sofa. Crowley opened his arms and Aziraphale came into them willingly, kissing him. “Though it’s nothing to the love I feel when I’m with you, my darling demon.” They kissed for some time.

“Crowley, something smells delicious! Have you made dinner?”

“Yup. Made your favorite. That coffee rub roast thingie with the potatoes.”

Aziraphale glowed. “Really?”

Crowley blushed. “Also made that cake you’ve been goin’ on about.” Aziraphale simpered at him, and he looked down at the floor, feeling giddy. “Oh, and...got you a present. S’posed to give your loved one presents on Valentine’s right? Anyway, here.” He thrust the present into the angel’s hand.

Aziraphale giggled at the paper, then carefully opened it, then opened the box underneath. “Crowley.” He lifted the object out as though he was afraid it would vanish. “This is a First Edition of Shakespeare’s Folios. How?”

Crowley gave him a shy smile. “Kep’ it. Will gave it to me as a thanks for Hamlet. There’s uh..this a real special edition. Open it up.”

Aziraphale opened it reverently. Written on the frontispiece were the words ‘To my angel. I did it for you.’ Under that was a sigil that Aziraphale knew was Crowley’s. Under that was another dedication.

‘To Anthony, for all his help, and to his angel. Will Shakespeare.’

“So, um...do you like it?”

Aziraphale set the book down on the table and pulled his husband into a searing kiss. When he pulled away, the demon grinned, punch drunk on the love that was pouring from his husband in waves.

“Happy Valentine’s Day.”


	15. Coffee and Comfort

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Crying. 
> 
> Crowley has lost a loved one. Aziraphale offers him comfort.

Chapter Fifteen: Coffee and Comfort

Crowley stopped in front of the door to Heavenly Coffee, trying to plaster on his usual expression of bland nonchalance. He failed miserably. With a long, deep sigh, he pushed the door open and plodded in, the bell above jingling.

As was usual, there was a long line of people ahead of him, and Crowley resigned himself to a very long wait. The owner did make the best coffee in town, after all. Crowley peeked over the heads of the others in the line-being tall did have its advantages at times-to watch as Aziraphale bustled about, taking orders and making coffee.

You didn’t come to Heavenly Coffees for anything fancy. Truth was, the fanciest you could get was a mocha. No, you came for the warmth and friendliness of Aziraphale Fell, owner. No matter what someone might be feeling like, they inevitably left the shop with warm smiles and delicious coffee.

Also pastries. Aziraphale was an amazing baker, and Crowley, who had a sweet tooth the size of Europe, was known for buying his apple danishes by the pound.

The line of people thinned out, and Crowley found himself in front of the counter. Aziraphale came over, a wide smile on his face at the sight of his best friend. “Anthony!”

Crowley gave him a half hearted smile. Aziraphale was one of the few people to call him by his first name and not make it awkward. “Hey. My usual. For here.”

“Of course.” There was a note in Aziraphale’s voice that Crowley didn’t quite catch. He went over to his favorite spot-a low, comfortable sofa in the corner of the shop and sat.

“Is everything alright?” Aziraphale had come over, a steaming mug in one hand and a china plate with an apple danish on it in the other. He set both down before sitting next to Crowley. “You’re usually not this...terse.”

Crowley picked up his coffee and took a sip. He never could fool Aziraphale. “I...had to have Midnight put down today.”

“Oh, Crowley...” Aziraphale’s voice cracked. “I’m so sorry.”

Crowley’s face twitched. “Thing is, I….knew I was gonna hafta soon, you know? She’d been diagnosed with feline leukemia, and the doc said, y’know, even with the medicine, if I could have afforded it, she’d be miserable. She hadn’t been eating, and she’d gotten so...so skinny. But...she was s’posed to always be there.” Crowley took another sip of coffee. “I ever tell you how I got her?”

“Found her in a rubbish bin, right?”

Crowley nodded. “Yeah. I’d just moved into my flat, and was takin’ my trash out when I heard this tiny little meow. Look down into the bin, an’ there’s this black fuzzy thing. Picked her up, took her home, and that was that.” He swiped his eyes. “Must look like a right fool, crying over a cat when there’s so many others out there that have real things to cry about.”

Aziraphale took a breath, then did something that shocked them both. He pulled Crowley into a hug. “You have as much right to grieve for Midnight as someone does to grieve for, say, a child they lost. You cared for and loved her. Of course you’re going to mourn. There’s no shame in it.”

Crowley blinked, then wrapped his arms around Aziraphale(and a part of his brain noted how incredible it felt to be held by him) and gave vent to his tears.

And if he stayed in Aziraphale’s arms long after his tears had dried, well, that was nobody’s business but theirs.


	16. Tempter, Tempted

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley is built for temptation. Aziraphale is not. And yet...the tempter finds himself tempted.

Chapter Sixteen: Tempter, Tempted

“Get up there and make some trouble,” he had been told. And so he had. He had slithered over to Eve and whispered and whispered into her ear until she plucked the biggest, ripest, juiciest apple from the tree and bit into it, then handed it to Adam. Smirking in satisfaction, Crawley slithered away.

He still wasn’t sure what compelled him to climb up the East Wall. Boredom, most likely. The angel guarding it seemed a bit...softer than the others. Would probably be fun to tease before Crawley slithered on back to Hell.

The demon was expecting the angel to be a stern, no nonsense type despite the softness. He was expecting to not get one word out before the angel realized he was a demon and smote him right back to Hell.

What he wasn’t expecting was to come face to face with the most beautiful being in all of Creation. The angel had hair so white it rivaled the clouds, a pair of soft, plump lips, and a body that the Serpent of Eden wanted to wrap himself around and never let go.

Crawley was halfway into love already, but the revelation that the angel- Aziraphale, as he would learn later- had given away his flaming sword so the humans would be protected tipped him over the edge. For all his skills at tempting, Crawley found that he was helpless against the innocent temptations of this perfect angel.

In Rome, he flushed inwardly at Aziraphale’s slip of the tongue. “You tempt me every waking moment, Angel. You must know that.” He had said as they sat in the restaurant, Crowley watching as Aziraphale ate. The angel had flushed prettily, then leaned in and pressed a salt brine kiss to Crowley’s lips. Crowley whined and kissed back.

“Can I tempt you again, darling?” Aziraphale’s voice had been deep, sending shivers of want up Crowley’s spine.

“Always.”

Smiling, Aziraphale took his hand and snapped his fingers, relocating them both to the small villa he owned outside of town. Specifically, to the bedroom, where the Serpent of Eden, Tempter of Eve, found himself helpless against the carnal temptations of the Angel of The Eastern Gate. He fell even more in love that night, and swore to himself and to Aziraphale that no matter what, they would never be apart again.

Now, after they had sort of helped save the world, Crowley knelt in his garden and quietly coaxed a rose to grow. He waited as the buds opened, then plucked it from the bush and carried it inside. Aziraphale was sitting on the sofa, knitting. The sounds of Gershwin filled the air, making a nice counter to the clacking of the needles. Crowley came over, nudging his husband’s leg. Aziraphale looked up, beaming. “Oh, so lovely! For me, I take it.”

Crowley nodded and slid into Aziraphale’s lap. “Always, angel.” He kissed Aziraphale. “How is it that you still tempt me, even after all this time?”

“Maybe,” Aziraphale said, setting down the knitting so he could give his husband his full attention, “it’s got something to do with the fact that we’re madly in love with each other. Now, my sweet demon, can I tempt you to the bedroom?”

Crowley wiggled in glee. “Temptation accomplished.”


	17. Plants and Crepes Make A Match

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: My heart is melting. 
> 
> Crowley hates the market. Then he meets his new neighbor, and things start looking up.

Chapter Seventeen: Plants and Crepes Make A Match

Crowley grumbled to himself as he set up his booth. Why he continued to try and sell anything in this godforsaken market was beyond him, but try he did, every single Saturday. He got the tent open, then hit his first snag of the day. The tent would not go up, no matter how many times he pushed. “Bloody buggering...” He swore, hot, sweaty, and on the verge of simply packing it in and leaving.

“Do you need help?” A soft voice made him look over his shoulder. He nearly dropped the tent on himself. Standing just outside was the most gorgeous man he had ever seen in his life. White, white hair that hung to his shoulders and looked as puffy as a cloud and curly as a lamb’s fur, blue eyes that rivaled the sky, soft lips that looked ripe for kissing, and a plump body that Crowley just knew would be perfect to curl around and never let go.

“Ngk. I...um...” Crowley’s brain tried to remember how to form words as the vision in front of him ducked under and grabbed hold of the mechanism.

“On three?” He asked, and it took all of Crowley’s willpower to nod. “One. Two. Three!” They both shoved upwards, and the tent moved. Crowley locked it in place, smiling gratefully at the other man, who hadn’t even broken a sweat.

“Thanks. Uh, I’m Crowley. As you can see, I sell plants.” He indicated the rows and rows of pots. It may have been silly, but he was proud of his plants. He had grown them all from seeds, and they were, in his not so humble opinion, the best out there.

So it always galled him when people would sneer at his prices and claim they could get plants that were just as luxurious at their local market. Crowley would smile through his teeth and tell them that they were buying quality with his plants.

“Aziraphale. I’ve got the tent across from you. The crepes booth.”

Crowley grinned. “Yeah? You make good crepes?”

Aziraphale beamed. “The best this side of Paris. I’d best be getting back. It was lovely meeting you.”

“Y..Yeah, you too.” Good god, was he actually blushing? Crowley watched Aziraphale go back over to his tent and start setting up the portable kitchen. Shaking himself, he began to arrange his plants.

Normally, Crowley endured the long, long day at market by going through his phone and ignoring everyone. Today, however, his routine changed.

He found he couldn’t take his eyes off Aziraphale. The man was captivating. Watching him make crepes was an experience. Aziraphale took his time with every crepe, making sure it was perfect before setting it on the plate, dusting it with a perfect coating of powdered sugar, and handing it to the customer with a wide smile. The rich smell filled Crowley’s nostrils, and he told himself that as soon as the queue in front of Aziraphale’s booth calmed down, he would go over and order one of the cinnamon apple crepes.

“Mummy, Mummy, look! That man has pancakes! I want a pancake, Mummy!” This came from a little girl of about four. She tugged her mother towards Aziraphale’s booth. The mother sighed.

“They’re too expensive, Carol. Remember Mummy doesn’t have a lot of money.”

Carol’s face screwed up. “Please, Mummy!”

Carol’s mother looked at Aziraphale apologetically. “I’m really sorry, sir.”

Aziraphale beamed, and even across the way Crowley felt like he was staring directly at the sun. “Oh, don’t be.” He looked at Carol, still beaming. “You know, I just happen to have an extra crepe. It’s the chocolate one. Would you like it?”

“Yes please!”

Aziraphale slid the chocolate crepe on a plate and dusted it with sugar before handing it to the exuberant child. “There you are.” Carol’s mother gaped at him. “On the house.” He whispered. Carol beamed.

“Thank you!” She gave him a tight hug.

“You’re very welcome.”

“Can I give you something?” Carol’s mum asked. Aziraphale waved her off.

“No need.”

After mother and (very happy) daughter had left, Crowley came over. “That was really nice of you.”

Aziraphale shrugged. “She wanted a pancake, and Lord knows I make more than enough that I can afford to give some away.”

Crowley grinned. “Money or crepes?”

Aziraphale laughed. “Crepes. Trust me, if this was my full time job I’d be rather poor.” Crowley laughed in agreement. “What about you? Is growing those gorgeous plants your full time job?”

“Yeah. I’ve got a greenhouse back of my property. Not a real big one, and I mainly sell online, but I do okay. What about you?”

“I run a bookshop specializing in rare and antique editions. I also restore books.” He reached into a pocket and handed Crowley a card that read AZ FELL AND CO, RARE BOOKS. “The restoration is where I make most of my money.”

“Cool. So..um...what crepe would you recommend I get?”

Aziraphale grinned, and Crowley felt his heart melt a little more. “Definitely the apple cinnamon.” Crowley watched as Aziraphale made the crepe, his mouth watering at the delicious aroma. “There we are. It’s on me.”

“Thanks, angel.” Crowley scooped the crepe into his mouth. “Oh my god...” He had never had anything this good in his life. “This is amazing...”

Aziraphale grinned. “Oh good. I could make you some more, if you like. Perhaps...tomorrow morning?”

Crowley licked his fingers clean and stared at him, a bit confused. “The market’s not open on Sundays.”

Aziraphale raked his gaze up and down Crowley’s body, then gave him a slow, wicked smile. “Oh, I know.”

Crowley’s entire body went as red as a tomato. “NGK.”

The next morning, a very tired, very happy, and very very much more than halfway into love Crowley ate several helpings of the most delicious crepes in existence.


	18. A Smile Like The Sun

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt:Acts of Service. 
> 
> From the moment Crowley saw the angel smile, he knew he would give anything to see it again.

Chapter Eighteen: A Smile Like The Sun

From the moment he sees the angel smile, on the East Wall of Eden, Crowley knows that he will do anything to see it again. The angel’s smile is like the sun, bright and happy and oh so very warm, and Crowley basks in it.

“So um, would you like to maybe walk around the garden? I don’t need to be back anytime soon, but if you do..” He leaves the invitation open, hoping, and is rewarded once again by the sunshine glow of the angel’s smile.

“I’d love to!”

Together they fly down. The Garden looks different after the first rain. Water is clinging to leaves and flowers, making them look like they are adorned with jewels. Crowley plucks a flower from each plant they walk by, then snaps his fingers, turning the flowers into a crown. He plops it onto the angel’s head.

The angel stops, places his hand on the crown, then walks over to a nearby pond and peeks in. “Crawley, they’re beautiful!”

Crowley blushes as the smile is directed once again at him, only this time it’s soft, and loving, and the angel comes over and places his warm, soft hand on Crowley’s cheek, and kisses him. Crowley has watched the humans kiss, and been curious, but also a bit grossed out. Kissing looked very wet and messy.

But now, as the angel...”My name’s Aziraphale, by the way”, as Aziraphale keeps kissing him, Crowley is thrilled to discover that kissing is very, very nice indeed.

And what comes after is even better.

Crowley loves this angel, loves him with the fire and passion of a million universes. He learns, over their long life together, that it is small things that bring on the sunshine smile that Crowley craves more than the finest wines.

In Mesopotamia, he learns that Aziraphale loves bread, and so he learns to bake, presenting him shyly with a loaf made by his own demonic hands. It’s a little burnt, and slightly too salty, but the look that Aziraphale gives him, bright and shining and happy, more than makes up for it. And really, with a bit of olive oil, the bread is perfectly fine.

On the Ark, surrounded by water and hiding in the hold, Crowley coils himself around his angel, keeping them both warm. The children he has smuggled onto the boat are pressed against them, unafraid of his serpent form. Aziraphale smiles the soft smile and kisses his snake head. “My wily serpent.”

Their jobs keep them apart, and Crowley hates it. He wants to be with his angel forever, wants to shower him with flowers and chocolates and books and anything else that will give him the chance to see that smile like the sun.

He pretends nonchalance every time he brings Aziraphale something back from his travels, whether it be a piece of jewelry from the Far East, a book that he has spent months tracking down(though he always tells Aziraphale he “happened to find it”), a new meal to try, or even a flower that doesn’t grow in England. With each gift, Aziraphale’s face lights up, and Crowley falls even more in love.

He suggests the Arrangement as a way to do even more, and is hurt when Aziraphale flat out refuses, his face pulling down into an angry frown. Hurt, Crowley leaves the tavern and the city.

Aziraphale of course comes around a few centuries later.

Now, many centuries after that, after a schism that nearly tore them apart, after the world doesn’t end and they are finally, **finally** free, Crowley is in the kitchen of their seaside cottage, a recipe book open in front of him. He’s trying his hand at making crepes, because Aziraphale has expressed a desire for them before going off into the city to check on the few remaining books in his shop. Most have been transferred to the massive library in the cottage. 

Crowley flips the first crepe over, his heart in his throat. It flips perfectly, and he releases a breath he didn’t know he’s been holding. Carefully, he slides it onto the plate, using a small demonic miracle to keep it hot, just in case Aziraphale takes a bit longer than expected. 

The second crepe is just coming out of the pan when Crowley hears the front door open. “Darling, I’m home!” 

“Sit at the table!’ Crowley calls back. Unseen, Aziraphale wrinkles his brow but sits down. 

Crowley lightly dusts the crepes, then pours Aziraphale the perfect cup of tea before heading out to the dining room. “Made you something.” He sets the plate and cup down, and Aziraphale  **lights up.**

“Crowley! My darling, they look delicious! Whatever is the occasion?”

Crowley slides into his husband’s lap, resting his head on Aziraphale’s shoulder. “Jus’ wanted to see you smile.”

Aziraphale melts. “Oh, my sweet serpent...”

Crowley sighs happily. He will do anything for this angel, he thinks. Anything to see that smile, and to feel that rush of warmth. 

It’s the best feeling in the universe, after all. 


	19. How Graphic, You Tease

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Man shaped corporation 
> 
> If Aziraphale is honest, the first thing he notices about the shirt is the way it clings to the man's body, showing off every inch of muscle.

Chapter Nineteen: How Graphic, You Tease

If Aziraphale is honest with himself, the first thing he notices is not the design on the front of the shirt, but rather how the shirt clings to the man’s body, showing off every bit of muscle. The man, a redhead with the sharpest cheekbones and longest legs Aziraphale’s ever seen encased in a pair of the tightest jeans known to mankind, had sauntered up to the counter and ordered a black coffee in a voice that made the barista swoon. Not that Aziraphale would ever swoon. He was a consummate professional who prided himself on being the best. But this man...dear someone, this man was gorgeous.

Aziraphale focused long enough to ring up the order, giving him a smile. “And what name shall I put on the cup?”

“Crowley.” The man’s voice was a teasing drawl, and Aziraphale felt himself flush. He picked up the cup and wrote the name in his usual Gothic script, then noticed the shirt’s writing. ‘I USED TO BE A PEOPLE PERSON. THEN PEOPLE RUINED IT.’ It said in large red block letters. Aziraphale snorted. “I love your shirt.”

Crowley grinned, showing off his sharp canines. “Yeah? Not a people person?”

Aziraphale leaned forward as if conveying a secret. “They can be real pains in the arse sometimes.” Crowley barked in laughter.

“Oh, you’ve got a bastard streak. I like you.” Aziraphale tried not to blush too hard.

“Y..your coffee should be ready soon, if you’ll just wait over there.”

“Sure thing, Angel,” Crowley said with a wink. Aziraphale went pink.

When Crowley came in the next day, he was sporting a shirt that read MY MOTHER SAID I COULD BECOME ANYTHING, SO I BECAME AN ASSHOLE. It took Aziraphale almost fifteen minutes in the back room to calm down enough to serve the rest of the customers, and he was still giggling throughout the day. Crowley had ordered his usual, black coffee to go. Aziraphale did have to deal with a few sticks in the mud who felt Crowley’s shirt was inappropriate, but he didn’t care. He was riding high on sharp toothed grins and wicked laughs.

Aziraphale began to look forward to Crowley’s arrival. He came every morning at six am, and every time he came he sported a different graphic t shirt. By now, Aziraphale had gotten so used to him that the moment he saw the beautiful black car that belonged to Crowley pull up to the lot, he would have his order rung up and waiting.

Crowley sauntered in and up to the counter, beaming. “Hello, Aziraphale.” His shirt this time said MAN SHAPED CORPORATION. Aziraphale stared at it.

“What’s that mean?”

For the first time since knowing him, Crowley looked a little nervous. “It’s um...well, s’posed to be my way of sayin’ I’m not a man. Jus’ man shaped.”

Aziraphale frowned, then brightened. “You’re genderfluid?!” Crowley gulped and nodded. “I am too!”

Crowley’s eyes lit up. “Really? Th..that’s awesome! Listen, um, could you put my coffee in a mug this time? And...wouldyouliketojoinme?”

Aziraphale untied his apron and poured Crowley’s coffee into the nicest mug he had. “My dear, I would love to.”

Crowley lit up. Aziraphale made himself a cup and they went over to a table, where they sat and talked about everything and nothing. “I do have one question, Crowley.”

“What’s that?”

“Would you like to get dinner tonight?”

Crowley’s entire body lit up. “Yes!”

Aziraphale sipped at his coffee, grinning. “Oh, lovely.”


	20. A Time Worth Forgetting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Worst Adventure 
> 
> Both Crowley and Aziraphale have moments they wish they could forget.

Chapter Twenty: A Time Worth Forgetting

“Angel, you remember a few weeks ago when I asked if you remembered Wessex?”

“Yes, of course. It got us talking about some of our favorite and best adventures. Why?”

“Was thinkin’. We’ve seen some good things, long as we’ve been on Earth. But definitely also seen some things we wish we could forget.”

“Darling, are you thinking about the Spanish Inquisition again?”

“N...maybe.”

“Darling, I know that look. You know I never believed or thought that was your fault. You’re far too decent to do anything that horrid.”

“Got a commendation for it. Wanted to throw it in Bee’s face and barf all over their feet. That woulda gotten me in real trouble. Wot ‘bout you? Wot’s the worst thing you ever got a pat on the back for?”

“Hmm, probably the Children’s Crusades.”

“No.”

**Sigh** “Indeed. Gabriel, in his usual display of cosmically awful timing, came to the conclusion that since I was the field agent for Heaven, and those...monsters were sending children to die in the name of God, that I had done something to inspire them. I tried to explain that I had been trying to  **stop** the crusades from happening, but you know how well Gabriel listens.”

“Bout as well as a dead frog.”

“Apt analogy.”

“Wait, was that why you looked so wrecked when we caught up in Egypt? Angel, why didn’t you tell me?!”

“It was too late by then. ‘More souls won for Heaven’, after all. Never mind that they were children.”

“Were you at Lindisfarne?”

“No. But I heard of it, and cried for days. Those poor monks. Were you?”

“Nah. Not really my thing, monasteries.”

“You have a point. Well, I propose a toast. To all our bad adventures, may they soon be forgot.”

“Cheers to that.”


	21. Happines Is

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Wiggles 
> 
> There are many things that Aziraphale does that Crowley finds utterly adorable.

Chapter Twenty One: Happiness Is

There were many, many things that Aziraphale did that Crowley found utterly adorable. The way his nose scrunched up when he read. The way his tongue darted out to lick his lips as he perused the menu at their favorite restaurant. The way he sighed, low and almost purring, when Crowley rubbed his shoulders after a long day at work.

But the one thing that Aziraphale did that was one hundred percent guaranteed to turn his partner into a puddle of adoring goo(well, even more of one) was when he would **wiggle.**

It didn’t happen a lot. Maybe once in a while, but Crowley looked forward to the wiggles the way a starving man looks forward to his next meal. He could, by now, tell when one was coming on. 

Aziraphale would smile, and the smile would turn into a beam that seemed to travel down his entire body. The shoulders would be first to wiggle, just enough so Crowley would notice, then the upper torso, followed by the legs, and finally his fingers and toes(if he was barefoot). The wiggle would travel back up his body, and the beam would become a fluttery giggle and a coy batting of the lashes. 

Crowley thought it beyond adorable, and had told Aziraphale. 

“Y...you don’t mind it?” Aziraphale asked, shock on his face. Crowley snorted. 

“Course I don’t. You’re really cute when you wiggle. And when you scrunch your nose.” Aziraphale scrunched his nose, and Crowley leaned in and kissed the puckered skin. Aziraphale giggled. “You’re just adorable, Angel.”

“Thank you, my love.”

“Anytime.”


	22. A Most Intimate Act

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Hand holding. 
> 
> The first time the angel and demon hold hands is in Eden.

Chapter Twenty Two: A Most Intimate Act

The first time the angel and the demon hold hands is in Eden. The first rain has just ended, and Crawley looks over at the angel that has given him shelter. He knows he should return to Hell and report the successful temptation of the humans, but he’s not quite ready to leave this angel’s side. He’s not sure if he’ll ever be ready. So instead he extends a hand. The angel looks at it, then back at him. “Wanna go exploring?”

Aziraphale hesitates for a cosmic moment of an angelic heartbeat. This demon, this...Crawly, is one of the most beautiful beings he has ever seen, but he is still a demon. Surely infernal and celestial energies aren’t meant to touch, right?

“I won’t bite, Angel.” Crawly says with something like hurt in his voice. Aziraphale timidly extends his hand, and Crawly grasps it.

Aziraphale is expecting one of two things. Either Crawly’s hand will be so hot that it will burn his hand to a crisp, or their two energies will collide, causing them both to discorporate(and Aziraphale is not looking forward to the paperwork that will entail).

What he’s not expecting is for Crawly’s hand to be wonderfully cool, to feel as smooth as his snakeskin looked, and for the demon to look down at their linked hands and suddenly blush. “Ngk. Um...so...um...exploring! Right! Let’s go.”

They fly off the Wall, hands still clasped together. Aziraphale feels like his stomach is full of wiggly things, and whenever he looks over at Crawly, the demon gives him a soft, shy smile. Their hands stay linked as they walk around the Garden, taking it all in.

Later, when Aziraphale lays Crawly underneath one of the many fruit trees and divests them both of their robes, he will reflect with some humor that this came more easily than the simple act of holding hands.

Over the millenia, they develop their own ways of hand holding. Sometimes it’s just for a few brief moments, their fingers brushing, their eyes fixed on each other and smiles on their faces. Other times, Aziraphale will grasp Crowley’s hand gently, kissing the tip of each finger as he sings his love’s praises. Sometimes literally. The angel, of course, had the voice of an angel. Sometimes Crowley will take Aziraphale’s hand in his, kiss each knuckle, then turn Aziraphale’s hand and press a loving, reverent kiss to the palms.

There’s been times in history where they have had to be careful, to make sure that the wrong people, the people who see it as a sin for two men to love, let alone hold hands, don’t catch them. And while it’s true that they are not men, with Crowley bouncing back and forth between genders like a rabbit on steroids, and Aziraphale simply deciding it’s easier to be man shaped, they still feel a sense of companionship with those who just want to be allowed to love openly, without fear of repercussions.

When the law changes, Crowley and Aziraphale celebrate by walking down the street, heads held high and hands linked together.

Now, in their cottage by the sea, they snuggle up under a blanket(tartan, of course, knitted by Aziraphale) and link their fingers together. Crowley lifts their hands to his lips and kisses Aziraphale’s knuckles. “Happy Anniversary, Angel.”

“You too, my love.”

Crowley sighs dreamily and lays his head on Aziraphale’s shoulder, gazing happily at their hands.

More specifically, at their wedding rings.

He never wants this perfect life to end.


	23. You Are My World

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: World at fingertips 
> 
> Aziraphale is Crowley's whole world.

Chapter Twenty Three: You Are My World

Many people, upon first learning that Crowley was mute, formed three conclusions. One, that he was unintelligent. Two, that he needed to be talked to as if he were mentally unstable, and three, that he didn’t understand even the simplest of things. Fortunately, they were wrong on all counts. Crowley was, in fact, highly intelligent and more than capable of expressing himself, whether it was through sign language or his phone app.

He had one major weakness, though, and it came in the form of a soft, plump gift shop owner with the whitest hair and bluest eyes Crowley had ever seen. He could still remember the day he walked into Fell’s Confections and Fineries. He hadn’t even intended to go in, but it had been threatening rain, and the gift shop was the closest shelter. Crowley had ducked inside, the little bell above the door jingling pleasantly.

The first thing he noticed was how cozy the shop was. Wooden shelves lined with boxes of candy and chocolates, several more shelves that held all sorts of wines and other liquors, including what looked like several bottles of very good port, and a counter that held individual chocolate pieces. The smell was amazing, and Crowley wandered over and rang the bell on the counter.

And nearly swooned when Fell came out from the back room, smiling. He was gorgeous. “Hello! How may I help you?”

Crowley had pointed to one of the boxes, then to the chocolates, fully expecting Fell to not understand. To his surprise, the other man grinned and got down the box, then filled it with the chocolates that Crowley pointed out.

After that, Crowley’s crush became a full blown infatuation, and he began finding excuses to go back to the shop, just so he could catch a glimpse of the owner, whom he learned was named Aziraphale. He’d noticed the last few times that Aziraphale was looking at him while he shopped, but when Crowley looked back, Aziraphale would flush pink and pretend to be cleaning.

Crowley had finally worked up the courage to ask him out. Their first date had been sushi, and after Aziraphale had invited Crowley back to his flat, where he proved to be **extremely** sexually creative, much to the delight of his very satisfied and very exhausted lover. Crowley was never going to look at a bottle of port and truffles the same way ever again. 

“What’s on your mind, love?” Aziraphale’s slow, sleepy voice brought Crowley out of his memories. They were lying in bed together, Aziraphale stroking Crowley’s hair, then his back, and moving back up. Crowley pressed his hand to Aziraphale’s heart. 

‘Six months.’ 

Aziraphale blinked, then smiled. “Oh, darling, has it really been six months?” A nod. “I’m so happy.”

‘Same. Got the world at my fingertips.’ 

Aziraphale looked a bit confused. “How’s that?”

Crowley moved so he could look into the blue eyes he loved. ‘You are my world, Aziraphale.’

And really, there was nothing for Aziraphale to do but kiss him breathless. 


	24. A Slip of The Tongue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Accidental blurt. The first time Crowley says the words is in Rome.

Chapter Twenty Four: A Slip Of The Tongue

The first time Crowley says the words, it’s an accident. Aziraphale has tempted-invited-him for oysters, and really, what else is Crowley supposed to do but say yes? So off to Petronius’ they go, and Crowley of course manages a small miracle so they can get the best seat in the house. Aziraphale smiles at him, and that smile does funny things to Crowley’s insides. He forces himself into a frown. “Don’t look so damn happy, Angel. You’ll give me hives.”

Aziraphale smiles wider, the bastard, and bats his eyes. “This is so lovely, don’t you think? The frescoes?” They depict the stars above, and Crowley feels a pang, as he always does when he sees the stars he created. “Aren’t most of these yours, Crowley?”

“Yeah, maybe.” The demon mutters, red faced. A young slave dressed in a fine toga comes over and takes their orders. Aziraphale, of course, orders the oysters. Crowley orders the best wine the restaurant has. The slave bows and leaves, returning moments later with a bottle of fine wine and two cups. Crowley pours the wine and hands one cup to Aziraphale. “Well, here’s to you, Angel.”

Aziraphale bats his eyes and drinks, and that funny feeling in Crowley’s stomach becomes stronger. They sit and drink for a bit before the oysters show up, shucked and ready to go, with some olive oil. Aziraphale’s face lights up. “Oh, these look scrumptious! Crowley, you must try one!”

Crowley obliges and makes a face. “Yuch. Too slimy for me, Aziraphale. You can have the rest.”

Aziraphale frowns, then shrugs and picks up an oyster. Crowley watches, dry mouthed, as it slides in between those plump, pink lips. Aziraphale makes a pleased noise and wiggles, beaming, and Crowley can no longer keep the words out.

“Satan, I love you.”

Aziraphale stops with an oyster half way to his mouth. “What did you say?”

Crowley frantically tries to backpedal. “Didn’t say anything! Finish your oyster.” Aziraphale sets the oyster down and turns so he’s facing the red-faced demon.

“You...you said you loved me.” Aziraphale says quietly, and Crowley wants to run away, wants to deny he ever said those words, because that would change everything, because up until now, he’s halfway convinced himself that though he and Aziraphale have been intimate in so many ways now, starting with Eden, that he’s just doing it because...because…

“Loved you since Eden.” The truth is out, raw and open, and Crowley ducks his head, not wanting to see the look on his angel’s face. “When you told me about your sword, and then sheltered me from the first rains. I fell, and I’ve never looked back. I know you don’t...”

“I do. I loved you when you mourned for Joshua, when you dragged me to the wedding and saved it with Joshua’s help. I love you for that smile that you save only for me, for the kindness that you try to deny, but that shines so beautifully and brilliantly in you.”

Aziraphale reaches out and gently removes Crowley’s glasses, revealing the tear bright eyes. “You are the best thing that has ever happened to me. How could I not love you with all my heart?”

Crowley chokes on a happy sob and kisses him. “I love you so much, Angel. So fucking much.”

“I love you too, darling. Now, I propose we get these oysters to go, return to your villa, and spend the next week in bed.”

“Angel, that is the best idea you have ever had.”


	25. Carnal Delights

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Pain is so close to pleasure 
> 
> "I want to try something new," Aziraphale said.

Chapter Twenty Five: Carnal Delights

“I want to try something new.” Aziraphale said, looking over at Crowley from his place on the sofa. The musician strummed his guitar, smiling over at his lover.

“Yeah?”

Aziraphale nodded decisively. “Yes. I’ve been giving it a lot of thought, and well, if you’re up for it, I’d like to...well, explore a certain...avenue in our sex life that I think would be of great enjoyment to both of us.”

“You talking about role play? Because I’m all up for that. Me, the poor starving artist, you the rich patron that I would do **anything** to please, or you could be a groupie, wanting to have the night of your life..”

“I want to tie you up and fuck you.” Aziraphale said bluntly. Crowley choked on his own spit, and the guitar made a discordant noise as he missed the chord. 

“Aziraphale!”

Aziraphale smirked, feeling much more confident. “Maybe even blindfold you, so your other senses are heightened. Ooh, how do you feel about being spanked?”

Crowley’s jaw worked as he tried to form a coherent thought. “Uh...buh..”

“Use your words, my love.”

Crowley gulped. “Y...you wanna...dominate me?”

Aziraphale grinned. “Yes, exactly. Oh, do you like to be praised? Because I can do that if you wish.” He leaned in and threaded Crowley’s hair through his fingers, tugging just hard enough to hurt, and Crowley gasped, his pupils blown wide. “Oh. Oh...you want this, don’t you? I can see it in your eyes.”

“Angel, I’ve been fucking dreaming of it for weeks now, but I’ve been too scared that you wouldn’t want it or that you’d think that I wanted to Dom.”

Aziraphale stroked Crowley’s cheek. “Silly thing, you are not the Dominant type. You’re far too eager to please, and oh, how you please me. Now, be a good boy, and go on in the bedroom. I’ll be right behind you.”

Crowley set his guitar down and raced for the bedroom. “Crowley.” Aziraphale’s voice, dark with command, made him halt and turn. “I expect you to be naked and kneeling on the bed when I get in there. Am I clear?”

“Y..yes, Angel.”

Aziraphale smiled, and Crowley shivered at the wicked promises it held. 

“Now...” said Aziraphale as he tied off the last rope, “let’s see what I can do to you.”

“Anything...” Crowley groaned, panting. “You can do anything. Hurt me good, Aziraphale. Hurt me so good...”

Aziraphale chuckled and kissed him, biting his lower lip, and Crowley kissed back, whimpering. “Pain is so close to pleasure sometimes, isn’t it, my musician? Time to make you sing for me.”

And Crowley did. 


	26. Mischief Managed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Love walks on four legs. 
> 
> They're leaving the Ritz hand in hand when Aziraphale hears a small sound coming from the nearby alley.

Chapter Twenty Six: Mischief Managed

They’re walking out of the Ritz at the end of a very lovely dinner, hand in hand down the street towards where Crowley’s parked his car, when Aziraphale hears a sound. It’s small, and very quiet, and the angel has to strain his ears to make certain he wasn’t imagining things.

There. To his right, where the alley is. There’s something in there. Aziraphale can hear it almost clearly now, and he steps towards the alley, his footsteps sure and certain.

“Oi, Angel, what gives?” Crowley asks as Aziraphale drags him down toward the alley.

“Can’t you hear it?”

“Hear wot?”

Aziraphale stops at the mouth of the alley. “Oh, for goodness sake. Listen!”

Crowley listens, and after much concentration, hears a small meeping sound coming from behind a rubbish bin. No, not from behind. From inside the bin. He glances around to make sure no humans are nearby before shifting into snake form and slithering into the alley(wincing at the dirt and other detritus on his scales) and up the bin. The stench of trash makes him gag and sneeze.

There’s a low hissing coming from underneath a particularly nasty piece of trash. Crowley takes a deep breath, holds it(even though he doesn’t need to breathe, some things are just automatic) and gets his snout under the leaking bag, shoving it away.

‘Go away I am not food!’ The hissing is coming from a very small bundle of matted fur and filth with bright green eyes. Crowley hisses in laughter.

‘Not going to eat you, little furred one.’

The kitten-for that’s what it is, though terribly thin and weak-hisses again. ‘Why snake not eat?’

‘Snake has better food. Furred one want food? And warm?’

The kitten blinks, and Crowley takes advantage, darting in and closing his jaws over the kitten’s nape, lifting it clear of the rubbish. The kitten yowls. It’s not very effective, considering the small size. ‘Hush, little furred one. Taking you to Safe.’

He slithers over to Aziraphale, nudging him. Aziraphale looks ‘round, then down, and his face melts. “Oh, the poor darling! Give her here, love.” He holds out his hands, and Crowley places the kitten in them before changing back to his human guise. “You poor thing, whatever happened to you?”

‘Mama gone, Mischief thrown in trash place!’ The kitten mews, and Aziraphale clucks in sympathy. ‘are you Safe?’

“I am, little one. Is Mischief your name?”

Mischief mews. This person holding her smells different, and the Snake that turned Person smells different too. But she’s not scared of either of them. ‘I am Brave Kitten!’

“Indeed you are.” Aziraphale says, a smile on his face and in his voice. “Now, what would you say to coming with Snake and me? We’ll keep you safe always.”

‘Yes please.’

They go to a strange machine and get inside, Snake behind the circle object. Safe tells Snake to drive carefully, and Snake hisses laughter, but does.

Crowley pulls up in front of the bookshop. “D’you want my help?”

Aziraphale shakes his head. “I can manage. Stop by tomorrow?”

“Course.”

Aziraphale takes great care in cleaning Mischief, combing out the matted, tangled fur and beaming at the deep black color. “Aren’t you the most beautiful thing? Let’s see about getting you some food.” He frowns, then goes over to his ancient computer. He expects it to go on the Internet, despite it not being connected to any sort of wifey,(or whatever it’s called) and it does. He goes to the Google and carefully types in ‘What to feed very small kittens’.

Dozens of results pop up, and he clicks on the first. According to the site, for very small kittens, milk given by eye drops is best. Aziraphale has neither. Luckily, there’s a twenty four seven convenience store located just down the street. Aziraphale makes sure Mischief is comfortable in her makeshift bed before snapping himself to the store. The bored clerk rings him up without commentary, and Aziraphale snaps himself back. The clerk, who has seen much weirder things than a guy that can vanish, turns back to his phone and waits for his shift to finally end.

Aziraphale has to look up how to feed Mischief, and thought it takes a few false starts, eventually the kitten is curled up in his lap, purring as he feeds her. She eventually falls asleep, still purring.

Crowley comes over the next morning to find a changed kitten. She bounces over to him, mewing. ‘Snake friend!’ Crowley picks her up, and she nuzzles him. ‘Snake Person?’

Crowley strokes her. “Yes, Snake Friend. Also person.”

‘Safe become Snake?’

Crowley shakes his head. “No, Safe is Angel. Guard Mischief and Snake.”

Mischief meows, not quite getting it, but knowing that Snake is telling the truth. ‘What place?’

“Book place. Safe place.” Crowley tells her. He nuzzles her, then puts her on the floor before shifting to his snake form. ‘Come. I show you around. Show warm spots. Good for sleeping.’

Mischief purrs and follows Crowley around the shop, asking question after question. Crowley answers them all, a snakey grin on his face.

Aziraphale watches, his heart full.

It doesn’t take long for word to spread that A.Z. Fell now has a kitten in addition to the rather large and scary snake. At first, people are worried. What if the kitten was brought to be snake food? But then people notice that the snake seems to rather dote on the kitten, letting it climb on him, bat at his tail, and curl up next to him to sleep.

Mischief loves the attention(and Aziraphale loves that she’s yet another distraction from buying his books). She’s loved, and petted, and fussed over by the humans and her Daddies.

Then there’s the Strange Day, when Snake doesn’t come to the shop, and Safe is suddenly gone in a bright flash. Mischief runs out of the shop, looking for Snake, but can’t find him, and she hides under a tree, shaking.

‘Mischief?!’ It’s Snake, and he’s looking very scared. Mischief mews and runs towards him. Snake hisses and coils himself around her. ‘There you are! Safe’s been worried sick! Come, ride.’

Aziraphale nearly collapses from relief when Crowley slithers up to the bench, a very familiar shape in his coils. “You found her! Oh, thank Someone!”

Mischief jumps into his lap, purring. ‘Safe not gone!’

“No, and I’m not going anywhere ever again.”

It’s a bit later, and Mischief is in a box with holes being carried by Snake. She can smell dirt, but good dirt, and birds, and worms and bugs. Snake sets the box with holes down and opens it. “Welcome to your new home, little furred one.”

Safe comes up and holds Snake. “Our home, darling.”

Snake nuzzles him. “Right. Our home.”


	27. The Human Barnacle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Canoodling 
> 
> Crowley hates being touched by anyone. Well...almost anyone. The exception comes in the form of a plump, deceptively strong crepe seller.

Chapter Twenty Seven: The Human Barnacle

Most people, upon meeting Anthony J Crowley, formed three conclusions. One, that he was very stylish. Two, that he was very, very good looking. And three, that he **hated** any form of physical touch. He would stand with his hands in his pockets in his booth, surrounded by plants, a perpetual scowl on his face. He never shook hands, never let any of the fellow vendors at the market slap him on his back, take his arm, or touch him in any sort of way. The one time someone tried to, Antony had nearly torn their head off before running off in the direction of the loo. After that, word spread quickly. Do not touch Crowley.

There are, of course, exceptions to every rule. In Anthony’s case, that exception came in the form of a soft, deceptively strong, and oh so gorgeous crepe seller named Aziraphale Fell, aka as the Love of Crowley’s life. 

Aziraphale had started out small. A gentle brush of the fingers when he would pass Crowley over a plate of fresh made crepes. At first, Crowley had done a full body clench, but Aziraphale’s touch hadn’t lingered, just been there enough to feel the warmth of him. Crowley relaxed, even offering Aziraphale a shy, tentative smile and a mumbled thanks. 

The next touch had been more lingering, a gentle joining of fingers as Aziraphale brushed Crowley’s hand. This time the tension was much less, but Crowley still trembled, nerves on edge. 

They had gone to dinner, and after a very good meal had returned to Aziraphale’s flat for a nightcap. Crowley sat on the couch, staring into the depths of his glass, and Aziraphale had laid his hand on Crowley’s arm, just enough to feel. Crowley had started, looked down at the hand, and burst into tears. Between loud gasps for breath and sobs that left him worn out, he told his story. How his parents had resented him for being born. How they never once used touch as affection, instead beating and belittling him. How he had run from them, only to end up with someone that was just as bad. Lucas has used affection and touch as a weapon, forcing Crowley to do things by threatening to leave him.  How he had never known a truly loving touch, only beats, kicks, and cruelty. How even now, years after he had found the courage to leave, he still didn’t dare to lower his defenses. 

At one point, he suddenly became aware that he was in Aziraphale’s arms, and that those soft, plump fingers were gently, oh so gently, carding through his hair. With a gulp, he reached up and wrapped his arms around the blond, laying his head on Aziraphale’s shoulder. Aziraphale gently rubbed his neck, and Crowley realized with a jolt that he felt...he felt  **safe.**

After that, it was a house of dominoes falling. Crowley, whenever he felt overwhelmed by things, would go over to Aziraphale, slide into his lap, and cling to him, head buried in the baker’s shoulder. Aziraphale would set aside whatever he may be doing, and gently pet him, carding his fingers through his fire tresses and gently rubbing his neck and back in slow, soothing circles. Sometimes he would talk in a low voice about how loved he was, how special and beautiful. But most of the time, he just held Crowley close.

And that was more than enough. 


	28. After All This Time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Surprise. 
> 
> After all this time, Aziraphale was still surprised by the depths of Crowley's love.

Chapter Twenty Eight: After All This Time

Aziraphale finds the note tucked in between pages 30 and 32 of his First Edition of The Happy Prince. It’s folded in a triangle, and there’s a slight smell of smoke coming from it. With a smile, the angel plucks it out, carefully unfolding it. Written on it in Crowley’s scrawling script are two numbers and the letters P O D G. Aziraphale goes over to his copy(first edition again) of Dorian Gray, and opens the book to the page numbers in the note. He’s not too shocked to find another piece of folded up paper, but this time rather than numbers and letters, there’s a rather good drawing of the bakery that Crowley always buys Aziraphale pastries from.

Puzzled, but also excited, Aziraphale exits the shop and heads for the bakery. Hannah, the lovely girl behind the counter that always serves him and Crowley when they come in, smiles when she sees him. “Ezra! Your man was just here. Asked me to give you this.” She reaches under the counter and hands Aziraphale a small box with a ribbon. The angel thanks her and opens it. Inside is a gorgeous macaron. Aziraphale lifts it out of the box and finds a small piece of paper underneath. He lifts it out, unfolding it. It’s a picture of a sushi roll, lovingly rendered in colored pencil. Aziraphale beams and starts to pay for the macaron, but Hannah shakes her head. “Already taken care of.”

Aziraphale’s next stop is, of course, their favorite sushi restaurant. The hostess greets him with a huge smile. “Mr. Fell! Mr. Crowley was here. He asked that you be given this.” She hands him another box, this one wrapped in gold. Aziraphale opens it. Inside is a carving of a duck. A bit puzzled, Aziraphale thanks her and exits. After a bit of pondering, he grins and snaps himself to the pond where they always feed the ducks.

He’s a bit shocked to find that Crowley isn’t there. Instead, there’s an envelope sitting on the bench with his name scrawled on it. He opens it, and finds a carefully sketched map leading from the bench to the ocean(specifically, to their cottage by the sea)along with a drawing of Aziraphale with his wings out.

Aziraphale looks around, does a quick miracle to make himself invisible from human eyes, then spreads his wings and kicks off the ground, flying towards Crowley and home.

He lands in the front yard, and sure enough, tied to the oak tree on his right, is another sheet of paper. He plucks it off, opening it. It’s a picnic, complete with a self portrait of his husband, sitting under one of the many apple trees in his garden. Aziraphale heads straight for the garden, his heart full to bursting.

“Hey Angel.” Crowley is sitting cross legged under the tree, a veritable feast spread out in front of him. “I see you got my notes.”

Aziraphale comes over and sits next to him, kissing him deeply. “I did. What’s the occasion?”

“I need one?” Crowley asks, smiling that soft, special smile that only Aziraphale gets to see. The demon blushes. “Wanted to..surprise you.”

“Well, you certainly did, and in the best possible way.” Aziraphale snuggles up to his demon, resting his head on Crowley’s shoulder. “After all this time, you still can.”

“I love you too.” Crowley says, an expression of serene peace on his face.


End file.
